


The Roads We Walk(ed)

by Sarcastic_Meep



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Introspective Thinking, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 06:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13828326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Meep/pseuds/Sarcastic_Meep
Summary: Things are never meant to be clear when dealing with him. Despite words having been her best weapon against him, his own still leave her thinking after all is said and done. All the words he wanted to say, in one tiny holotape.





	The Roads We Walk(ed)

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm going to be perfectly honest, I didn't expect this to come as a result of playing New Vegas again. It had been a few years since I last touched the game, most interest in video games having just disappeared during that time. It wasn't until I managed to get "The Lonesome Road" that I decided to pick up Fallout again.
> 
> I am so glad that I did.
> 
> It was probably the most fun I had playing a game in a while, purely for the story and character(s). ED-E was an enjoyable character to wander the Divide with, and Ulysses was a treat all on his own. It wasn't the challenge I found enjoyable, nor the new weapons that can turn you into a juggernaut (although, both those aspects were fun in their own rights). Instead, it was the story behind the Divide- behind Ulysses- that made me fall in love with that DLC.
> 
> That only means that I have to naturally make a small homage to the story involving that little holotape that you get at the end.  
> Side Note: Rated T because I feel like my Courier would basically be a smokestack and I'd prefer to err on the side of caution with these kinds of matters.
> 
> Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout or any of the characters/locations in the game.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Howling winds whistled throughout the Mojave; the cold, dry air of the desert disturbing the figure that sat upon the bridge’s edge outside Novac. They knew that Boone was watching them through his scope, observing their actions. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do anyways. Few Legion scouts wandered these parts as of late.

The pipboy on their left wrist whirred quietly in the night, the machine getting ready the holotape that had played multiple times over the past few hours. Soft clicks emanate from the machine, the tape inside being rewound. They sat patiently on the bridge, a helmet resting beside them, watching the freeway and wasteland through empty red lenses.

The clicking stops abruptly, the pipboy signaling its completed task with a dull chime. A gloved finger softly presses the select button, a calm static promptly filling the air as a result.

_‘Last tape, last message. In case you… best me. If you’re hearing this, you have, through blood or word.’_

It’s a gruff voice, distorted by a radiation mask, worn in response to the surroundings they inhabited. It was a voice burdened by experience and stories, both belonging to him, and the people he met.

Memories of dreads and dusters move through the cold eyes of the lone figure. A deactivated nuclear warhead, a destroyed eye-bot, two people surviving against everything that the divide had thrown at them. 

A change of heart and the will of survival turning a makeshift tomb into a battlefield. Open defiance of the Divide and it’s ruthlessness. If the individual were a writer, it would’ve made for an entertaining story.

_‘This message, and all that lies with it- it is for you, Courier. If you want to know the… why of things.  
This world, I’ve walked a good part of it… I only stopped because of you. What you did- gave me pause.’_

They sat there, listening on as the final message from the man with the dreads played into the night. One last message. One last riddle. They were tired of his riddles. 

Chapped lips held a slim cigarette, the small white stick waiting patiently to be lit. A small flip lighter was held in a gloved hand, the flame being flicked on, then off, in slow intervals. The illumination of the pipboy from the close fire was oddly calming. Eventually the figure would light the cigarette before dousing the flame, the small metal object being snapped shut. 

A deep inhale was followed by a steady stream of smoke lazily drifting from their mouth.

_‘Long ago, I crossed the Colorado, first among the Legion to see Hoover Dam in all its glory... an Old World wall, yet bridging two sides.  
And beyond it, a symbol of a two-headed bear, an idea great enough to challenge Caesar himself.’_

Another inhale, another puff of smoke expelled. A light orange glow lighting the far horizon. Another night spent navigating mental mazes and riddles. The Courier’s eyelids lowered slightly at the realization; dull, grey eyes gazing over the scarred wasteland.

_‘Might kill him, taking it, whether he won or lost. The Bull needs to fight, needs to challenge, without it… it falters, dies in the dust.  
Might be a lesson there, in you and me. Leave the thought behind the message to you.’_

Grey eyes snapped back towards the pipboy for the umpteenth time in that night. Raven coloured locks flowed with the slight movement of the head, the ill tended hair swaying lightly as a result. They can’t help but laugh quietly to themselves, finding the implication of the line humorous. _Of course there’s a lesson there, you wouldn’t have said it otherwise._

Another drag, another exhale followed by the lazy wisps of smoke.

If only that lesson were so easily discovered.

_‘My message is this- the destruction that has been wrought, at the Divide- or elsewhere, if you couldn’t stop me…_  
_It could happen again. It will keep happening._  
_If war doesn’t change, men must change, and so must their symbols.’_

The Bull and the Two-Headed Bear. Two creatures of territory and dominance. Two creatures who would find themselves destroyed without an enemy to focus on. Two factions who would eventually find instability to be their true enemy. Their symbols indeed needed to change. No need for a bull who seeks challenges or a bear whose heads fight among themselves.

The Courier discarded the now burnt down cigarette, tossing the butt to pool around the rest that had accumulated throughout the night. The midday winds would likely blow them away anyways. A new slate for her to contemplate over and stain the next night.

The Courier extracted another stick from the nearly empty pack, quietly replacing the old one that had worn out less than a minute prior. Inhale, exhale.

Men must find new symbols, symbols that lay among the desolate wasteland to properly rally behind. Symbols that convey freedom and peace. Symbols that could change the wastes, and maybe even men themselves.

How childish to believe something such as that could exist in this world anymore.

_‘Even if it is nothing at all, know what you follow, Courier…_  
_… just as I followed you, to the end. Whatever your symbol…_  
_… carry it on your back, and wear it proudly when you stand at Hoover Dam.’_

‘Even if it’s nothing at all, know what you follow-’. Each time, those words would stay- haunting in their meaning, their tone. The Courier would sit, watching the horizon as their thoughts took hold. They couldn’t even remember the home the other would vehemently mention and talk about. A home destroyed by the speaking of a device. A home destroyed by her.

What road did she follow? Her steps were too abroad, too encompassing of the great wastes of the Mojave. She followed a road through a rain of steel and fire. Followed a road through canyons and brush, exterminating a race of people along the way.

She followed a road of hardships and emotion, watching another woman grow away from her nest in dispair, a sense of defeat evident in their being. The poor girl never unfurled her wings until she left the Courier’s care.

She followed a road less traveled, a road leading to hope and unity. A road that lead to a place where humans, and ghouls, and even mutants lived together in a sense of harmony. It was a road she wished to leave alone. It no longer needed traveling, the settlement doing just fine without her presence.

She followed and walked the lonesome road. A road that lead through her past: a past that she couldn’t remember. A road that showed her the impact of the conflict between the Legion and NCR, between Bull and Bear. She had decided that whoever had created that road, that road that had once been untouched, that road that lead to what was once a home to many, was no longer her.

That only left the road home. The only road left for her to walk. Her home rested with neither the Legion or NCR. Not with the Boomers, nor the citizens of Jacobstown. Not in Goodsprings where she was respected and most certainly not in New Vegas- the city content with forgetting her existence. House would never accept her anyways. She never did deliver that chip.

A small glare caught her eyes, the sun finally beginning to peek over the eastern horizon. No home rested anywhere to the west. That place where the sun set had no space for her any longer. The NCR would rather be done with her services once the situation at hand was dealt with.

Her home no longer rested in the Divide, that choice having been forsaken long ago when she delivered that last package for that place. Strange how the past always seemed to lurk behind her.

She looked back to Novac, specifically to the inn that rested in the early morning light of the sun. The Mojave had been her defacto home for as long as she could remember, which wasn’t all that long all things considered. The desert had been home for her, but it was no longer something to follow. Did she really need to follow a road home if she was already there?

The final lines of the message replayed in her mind, her answer becoming clear enough for her to make a decision. With a smile, she began rewinding the holotape.

The NCR would eventually hold New Vegas, and by extension the Mojave. This didn’t concern her anymore. She’s as much a part of the Mojave as the Mojave is a part of her. The NCR knows and understands this. She wouldn’t willingly leave, and they wouldn’t expend the resources necessary to either chase her off or deal with her. The wasteland had already tried and failed in that regard.

Perhaps there was nothing for her to follow anymore… that thought was much more relieving than she thought it would be.

The clicking in her pipboy stopped, the dull chime following to signal its completed task. The woman removed the long dead cigarette from her mouth, the butt colliding with the rest as she discarded it. Another one quickly found a place in the corner of her lips. With the snapping of the lighter, the end quickly caught alight, a small wisp of smoke rising from the temporary flame.

She shrugged when she felt eyes on her again, already knowing who they belonged to. She snapped the lighter closed before placing it back inside the jacket.

Eventually, the colossus that was Hoover Dam would have to be tackled. The Legion will eventually attack it. All she needs to do is make sure she’s ready for when that time comes. All she needed was a symbol to carry. A symbol uniquely her.

With a wispy snort, the Courier pressed the button to play the tape. A dull static filled the morning air of the wastes.

A symbol that was uniquely her…

_“Last tape, last message.’_

She had just the symbol in mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, to all who decided to actually go through with reading this piece. While I wouldn't say I'm great or well versed with proper writing structure, I wouldn't say I'm bad or below average either. This is something I do plan to continue as a hobby, as it happens to be an enjoyable activity to pass the time by. As such, it would very much be appreciated if you were to leave a comment or review. Tell me something you liked about the story, or maybe something you didn't, or both. 
> 
> Did something about my writing bother you? Did you enjoy the style? Just don't be a stranger. Communication is wholly appreciated, and is something that helps writers grow.
> 
> Till next time.


End file.
